


Good Morning to You

by EverydayMagic17



Series: Hobbit Shorts [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Dwalin Feels, Dwalin Is A Softie, Dwalin has self-esteem issues, F/M, Female Bilbo, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Romantic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverydayMagic17/pseuds/EverydayMagic17
Summary: Dwalin has a tendency to adopt small, cute things. Like the Company Burglar. Who he my or may not be in love with. He also tends to hug the stuffing out of whoever comes within arms-reach of him while sleeping, something that tends to leave him embarrassed, as=nd trying to apologize.
Bilba has nightmares of the Fell Winter that wake her up at least once a night, usually flailing and thrashing. Until she finds she's slept the whole night through... Using the dwarf she's falling for as a matretss- only, he runs off...





	1. Nocturnal Tendencies

**Author's Note:**

> Un-Beta'd, and written after one in the morning, because sleep is for the weak. Please point out any glaring errors, so I can fix them.

Balin was well aware of his little brother's tendency towards... cuddling... the nearest person or object at night. Maybe 'cuddling' was a mild descriptor for the way Dwalin attached himself to the night's victim, snatching them to himself tightly and contentedly, refusing to let go before he woke for the morning. It'd developed sometime around when Dwalin-the-tattooed-and-mohawked-terror-of-the-battlefield had become the designated dwarfling-watcher-of-preference for the dwarrowdams of Ered Luin; somehow dwarflings could sense that Dwalin had a delight in the small, and adorable, and would gladly die to protect them, and they returned his enjoyment of their company, in spades. In fact, if they stayed with him overnight, Balin would inevitably ind the dwarfling using his brother as a mattress, or being used as a teddy-bear come morning, a sight that never failed to make him grin, and dams come to collect offspring coo.

So perhaps he should have seen the fascination his younger brother had taken in the she-hobbit, Bilba Baggins, coming. After all, she combine the cute,tiny, adorable factors of a dwarfling with the curves, and temper of a dwarrowdam, adding a wickedly sharp tongue and mithril spine that let her tell off a wizard, and hit Thorin over the head with an umbrella when he insulted her at their meeting. Thorin, after h roused from semi-consciousness, treated the hobbit with much of the same wary respect as he did Lady Dis, and had commented he was simply relieved that the lass hadn't had anything heavier t hand when he called her a bar-maid. Balin was just glad that not only was there someone willing to call Thorin out on his ridiculousness and overly-dramatic brooding, but that Bilba seemed to return Dwalin's interest, gravitating towards the burly warrior at all times; especially since he'd caught his baby brother eavesdropping closely when the lads questioned her about hobbit-style courting.

Three weeks into the journey, and only Balin, the princes, and Thorin, all of whom were well aware of Dwalin's nocturnal hug-attacks had been caught out by the habit that invariable left Dwalin blushing and trying to apologize. So Balin had let himself relax, perhaps too soon, and had forgotten to finagle the bedrolls that night, to protect his little brother's dignity and ego. In his defense, it was the first night that the ground would be dry in almost a week, and he'd been, as closest, one of the first to jump in the river to recover Fili, Kili and the pony, if not the pack with most of their food, so he was exhausted, and fell asleep almost before he finished eating...

Bilba had been training herself to be able to take watches at night, wishing to carry her own weight better within the company, by sitting up with either Nori, or Dwalin, as they were experienced enough that explaining noises to her wouldn't distract them dangerously, and they were both patient with her questions. She'd have added Bifur to the list, except she could only half-understand his hand-signs in broad daylight; firelight made deciphering what he was trying to convey hopeless for her to attempt. She knew Bofur found it hilarious that the two dwarrow she was closest to, so far, were the two most stand-offish and wary (if you didn't include Thorin-the-royal-broodiness), and as Guardsman and Thief-turned-spy (not that Nori admitted to being anything but a thief), hated each others' guts.

Since she was going to be staying up for first watch, with Dwalin, and he'd set up his bedroll a short distance from most the Company, it'd made sense to Bilba to set her things next to him. That way, if and when the inevitable nightmares that'd plagued her since the Fell Winter, thirteen years before, came, she'd not disturb anyone, as she'd noted that nothing woke Dwalin except a potential threat, once he fell asleep. The fact that the sweet dwarf had given her a shy smile when she laid out her bedroll was only icing on the sticky-bun, as far as Bilba was concerned; she was well aware that she was falling, hard, for the gruff but surprisingly gentlemanly dwarven warrior. Well, Tooks never did the expected, and Baggins fell fast and firm in love...

Bilba woke warm, and comfortable, so comfortable in fact, that it took her a moment to realize that she shouldn't be warm, or comfortable; three weeks on the road told her that much. Nor should her pillow tickle her face with rather soft, yet wiry hairs, and that her mattress shouldn't have woken her by jerking suddenly. Dwalin looked at her with a pained expression, and Bilba gasped, rolling off the dwarf. Before she could even begin to apologize, or untangle from the blankets, he'd vanished into the trees, looking as upset as she'd ever seen, forgetting every last one of his weapons. She employed words that she'd added to her vocabulary on the journey so far, trying to run after him, only to trip and fall, the blankets knotted around her. She didn't even stop to listen to whatever it was Balin was trying to say as he freed her, seeking her dwarf.


	2. I Slept the Whole Night Through

Dwalin cursed and punched the tree again and again, unable to get the look of horror on Bilba's face, when she woke trapped n his arms, out of his head. He'd been so Valar-damned-stupid. Of course someone as sweet and caring as his little hobbit wouldn't want him. He was big, scary, scarred and tattooed, gruff, hairy, and not at all inclined to think thing through when he could cut a problem apart with his axes. His One, his perfect match was small, sweet, full of compassion for everyone, innocent, and quick-witted enough to talk them bloodlessly through an encounter with bounty-hunters seeking Thorin, with the Men unaware that their quarry was being gagged by Nori and restrained by Balin and Dori, at the back of the Company.  
There was no guarantee that hobbits even had Ones, and even among dwarrow, the relationship could be entirely one sided. Why would she even want him? He'd moved too fast, assumed to much, thinking that the amount of time she spent with him was a mark of her regard, instead of her reaching out to every dwarf, especially the ones that were most resistant to her cheerful, open friendliness. Her laying next to him... he should have warned her, or at least put more room between their rolls after she fell asleep, instead of selfishly enjoying her warmth, and scent at her side, knowing his tendency to grab people in his sleep-  
Small, warm hands gripped Dwalin's wrist, startling him, and preventing him from hitting the tree again. Some part of him must have recognized that it was Bilba, before his mind caught up, or his reflexes would've sent her flying as an ambusher. Green eyes, the color of sunlight catching a fine beryl, looked tearfully up at him from beneath honey-toned curls, silently sorrowing at the bruised and bloody state of his knuckles.  
“Dwalin,” he nearly collapsed, weeping, at the gentle concern in Bilba's voice, knowing it was just friendship birthing it.. it might well kill him... “Why did you run?” she continued sounding as if she was trying to hide her hurt, out of concern for his worthless hide.  
“I abused yer friendship, and trust, Bil-” he cut himself off, as he didn't deserve to use her given name “- Mistress Baggins. Ye hadn’t given me permission to touch ye in such an...intimate manner... It was beyond dishonorable t' take advantage of ye so. I can only give ye me braid in the hopes that one day ye might see fit to grant me anoth-”  
“No! No, you will NOT cut a single hair from your head, Dwalin, Son of Fundin!” Bilba snarled, even as Dwalin realized, kneeling before her, he'd forgotten everything but his armor and knuckledusters back in camp, meaning he had nothing to cut his braids off with in the first place. Startled, the dwarf looked up, to see that she was nearly shaking with emotion.  
“You did nothing to dishonor or disgrace yourself,” Bilba continued, more gently, almost... tenderly, a tear rolling unheeded down her face. But that made no sense...  
“I will not have you punishing yourself, cariad,” Dwalin found the sudden blush on her round cheeks made him very curious as to what that word, obviously Hobbitish, meant.  
“But... yer cryin', and... ye looked...horrified.” he protested, even as she sank down to kneel in front of him, which was wrong, he'd been the one to harm her. Bilba winced, and took a deep breath, looking at her hands.  
“There was a very bad winter, thirteen years back, do you recall?”  
“Aye,” although he abruptly had even less idea of where this conversation was going, now.  
“The Shire was hard hit. Drought in the summer meant poor crops, then early frosts and hailstorms that fall ruined much of what we had managed to grow, but concern wasn't great. Usually winters are mild, and short. The Old Forest and the Brandywine River guard our borders, and the Rangers help us if dangerous beast wander in. But that winter was long, cold and harsh. The rivers froze, making perfect bridges.” Dwalin began to dread where this was going, and seeing Bilba so dead-voiced and lifeless, had to wrap his arms around her, feeling her shaking, as if the remembered cold had settled into her bones.

“First, it was just wolves, starving, but we could handle those with traps, bows, and fire kept them at bay. As long as no one went out alone, they were fine. Then people began disappearing, and the wolf tracks were huge... Then we found the odd arrow, and suddenly everyone believed my Mama that it was wargs with their goblin allies. The Horn of Buckland was sounded, the Muster called, and the Shire began to evacuate to the Great Smials and Buckland Manor, as they were defensible.” She gave a choked mockery of a laugh. “But it was too little, too late. Mama was one of the few hobbits that knew more than the sling or bow, when it came to fighting. Most used scythes and pitchforks, because farmers know how dangerous their tools can be, but it wasn't just goblins and wargs wandering unorganized, at that point. There were orcs, lead by a big white one, with his left forearm replaced with a metal claw, riding an albino warg.” Dwalin heard choking noised from the trees- Damnit Thorin! Eavesdropping as usual! He'd never really believed that Azog was dead, like his King and Cousin had, the line of Durin just wasn’t that lucky....

“They toyed with us. Drove us to exhaustion, and just in sight of our goal, the caravan was hit. My baby sister, not even two, torn from my arms, bitten in half... M parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, friends, torn to pieces in front of me, and eaten. There were five hundred twenty six of us in that group; one hundred three made it to safety; ninety-eight survived the week. I can still smell and see the blood, hear the screams,,,” Bilba said dully, eyes fixed on a past no one else could see, fists clutching at Dwalin's furs, as if there were the only thing anchoring her to the present.  
“I survived strictly because I amused the white orc. I'd taken out three wargs throwing the kitchen knives Papa had packed, and knocked in the skull of an orc with his frying-pan, before I somehow picked up Mama's sword. I remember being surrounded, orcs laughing as they shoved the smaller goblins into the circle with me, and not much else. I was found at the gates two days after the rest, my back laid open by warg claws, cut and bruised all over.” She was silent for a long, long moment.  
“Oh, gishavel,” Dwalin held her close, as she just shook, face damp with tears, “why torture yerself like this with the memories? I'm not worth yer pain...”  
“You are,” Bilba snarled, the fierce glare up at hm, and punch in the solar plexus worth seeing the life return to the feisty hobbit, “and don't you ever insult yourself again, Dwalin.” He nodded hastily.  
“I had to tell you, so you'd understand. I haven't felt safe, even in my own home, ever since that winter, yet I can travel the wilds in order to face a dragon, and feel protected as long as a certain tattooed dwarf is near. I've woken up kicking and fighting at least once every night for thirteen years. Except last night.”  
“Oh,” Dwalin rocked, physically stunned by the impact of that revelation. Pride swelled in hi chest, at the thought his One trusted him so deeply. Until of course he remembered her expression on waking, and the fact that she was just being a concerned friend. It was so like her to torture herself to make another feel better.  
“But when you woke-” Dwalin was going to punch Thorin, his own brother, and the Prince in the face; he could hear the groans from the bushes. From the language Bilba was using to describe him, she shared the sentiment of the eavesdroppers.  
“Yavannah give me patience! Dwalin! I just told you I sleep restlessly, and add that to the approximate location of my feet, and the fact that you jerking is what woke me up, and you had an expression of pain on our face! What would be my logical assumption?!” Dwalin flushed a dull red behind his beard. She thought she'd kicked him in the groin accidentally, of course his sweet hobbit had been horrified... But she wasn't his... Something of his internal turmoil must've made it to his face, because all of a sudden, Bilba's fingers were buried in his beard, yanking him into a passionate kiss.  
“Balin, you said women initiated the courtship in you culture, right?” the hobbit panted when they broke apart, prompting twelve dwarrow in various levels of embarrassment to pop out of the bushes, along with one smug wizard.  
“Yes, but generally the head of the family has to be informed first, and approve of... the... match...” Balin trailed off under Bilba's look.  
“Balin, I'm courting your brother.”  
“I...uh...congratulations, Sister.” Balin sputtered hastily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story ended up expanding on me from a oneshot... Ummm, oops? Oh well, more for you I guess.


	3. Epilogue

Bilba woke lazily, warm and content, in her bed, her husband snoring softly, his arms around her. Dwalin didn't even stir when she rolled over, and took a moment to savor watching him sleep. It was almost three years to the day since he'd knocked on Bag-End's door, and started her on an adventure she couldn't regret, or all the pain and heartache that it had cost her.   
Three years in which she'd talked trolls into arguing until dawn turned them to stone, visited and snuck out of Rivendell. Years in which she'd nearly fallen off a cliff thanks to stone-giants, been captured by goblins, and thrown herself at Azog to save Thorin, and get a bit of the revenge she was owed, managing to kill his warg. Years where she'd had to talk her Dwalin out of attacking a giant bear-man for calling her 'little bunny', stabbed more giant spiders than she cared to remember ever even existed, and abused Thranduil's, and his court's, typical elvish romanticism to get them out of Mirkwood.  
Three years where Dwalin had damn near committed regicide several time over, given she'd been sent to face Smaug twice, then Thorin's goldsickness taking an odd twist with the king believing himself in love with her... Luckily, it seemed being beaten to a pulp, and knocked out, by his best friend had cured Thorin just in time to negotiate with Bard and Thranduil in as rational a manner as Thorin was capable of, and make an alliance against Azog's armies. Years where a mithril shirt had enabled her to warn her beloved and his royal cousins of Ravenhill's trap, and save the idiot almost-martyr king from being impaled on Azog's arm, by impaling the orc on her elvish 'letter-opener'.  
Three years where she'd worried herself nearly sick keeping all her dwarves alive, in the aftermath of the battle, and drove everyone spare with the question of “If it is called the Battle of Five Armies, how do we divvy all the forces into those five armies?” No one, to this day was quite sure, or where the name had come from in the first place. Years in which she'd become the official ambassador when it came to negotiations with elves, lest Thorin start a war on 'accident'. Years where her husband helped terrify everyone in the Shire into returning the possessions Aunt Camilla had auctioned off, and Bilba had gleefully left Bag End to the Took side of her family, as it'd been a gift to her Mother. Years where she'd finally gotten the farms producing enough food for her dwarves and their rebuilt kingdom, and married her ridiculous warrior.

“Good morning. Yer thinking too loud again, darlin'.” Bilba giggled and kissed her husband on the nose, making him chuckle and capture her lips instead.  
“I need to visit the bathroom, dearest,” she sighed regretfully, “No pouting, Dwalin. You're half the reason my bladder is so cramped these days, what with a little one practicing unarmed forms in there,” the hobbit grimaced as a particularly energetic stomp landed directly on her bladder, even as her husband, now thoroughly distracted from his previous intentions, tried to caress her growing stomach, in order to feel the activity. Yes, the past three years had been very good, and she was eager to see where the future led her..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay dwobbits! But seriously, how do you divide all the forces, book or movie, into five 'armies'. I've never been able to make it work...

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how Dwalin ended up so angsty...  
> Internet cookies to the one who can tell me the name of the song and musical the title references... because I can't for the life of me, manage to recall it...


End file.
